


the world is brighter than the sun (now that you're here)

by blujamas



Category: Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anne finds family in Scotland, F/M, Mutual Pining, implied Diana/Jerry, written before the events of 3x08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21560104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blujamas/pseuds/blujamas
Summary: “So. Scotland.”They stood by the sea, Anne with ribbons in her hair and Gilbert with his heart on his sleeve. Outside looking in, one might see a girl with suitcases by her feet and a boy wringing his hands behind his back, and conclude that they might be lovers saying goodbye. The truth was much more practical than that.// Long-lost family offers Anne Shirley-Cuthbert a chance at education in a prestigious university across the sea. Before she can go, however, there is one last loose end to tie up: Gilbert Blythe.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 36
Kudos: 478





	the world is brighter than the sun (now that you're here)

_You are loved more than you know._  
_I hereby pledge all of my days_  
_to prove it so._

* * *

She was young when she first met him. Not too young to miss the look on his face when he first saw her, but young enough to not understand what it meant yet. He was the handsomest boy in school – Diana actually swooned as she described him – with dark curls, hazel eyes and deep dimples when he smiled. Anne Shirley didn’t quite understand the whole appeal, if she were to be honest; she could admit that in a certain light, she might find him beautiful, but in her head she had always imagined to fall in love with a golden-haired prince with bright blue eyes that would storm castles full of witches and evil stepmothers and the like all to rescue her from the lonely tower in which she had been imprisoned. He had a sword in her dreams, with which to slay dragons.

And he was Ruby’s. The girls in school had made that infinitely clear. He wasn’t just Ruby’s, either. It seemed to Anne that Gilbert Blythe – handsome, tragic, dark-haired – belonged to everybody. He could sit at any table during lunch and be graciously accepted with warm smiles and warmer conversation. People ran up to him during dismissal so they could walk home with him. He was like the sun, the people around him were dutiful sunflowers with their faces turned ever upwards, and Anne…

Well. It didn’t much matter what Anne was, because whatever it was, it would not be as romantical as _the sun._

When she broke the slate against his cheek, she allowed herself no room for remorse about it. She regretted her fiery hair, but never her fiery temper, and of course he’d deserved it. Who was _he_ to pull her pigtail and call her “Carrots” and grin oh so roguishly? Anne Shirley could tolerate people swooning over him. Anne Shirley could not tolerate how he could still look so beatific when he teased her.

“Oh, Anne,” Ruby sighed during one of their lunchtime gatherings, a few days after the initial chaos following her “attack” – as the older girls called it – of Gilbert Blythe. “He was quite so lovely with his cheek all red, you should have come around to see how – what is that word you’re always using? Tragical? Yes, he was ever so _tragical_ with his wound. It made me want to throw my arms around him and take care of him.”

“I’d hardly call it a _wound_ ,” Anne grumbled around a bite of sandwich. “And Gilbert Blythe doesn’t need _you_ to take care of him, Ruby, I’m sure half of Avonlea would snap up the chance to coddle him before you could even think of it.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Ruby challenged, her eyes brightening as they always did whenever Gilbert was the topic of discussion. If eyes were the windows to the soul, Ruby’s house always seemed to keep a blazing fire in the hearth. “Imagine dabbing at his face, and oh! Cooking for him! The delight of having Gilbert eat something I made…”

Anne resisted the urge to roll her eyes. She was exasperated, not rude. “Oh, Ruby, if Gilbert Blythe ate anything _I_ made, he’d be even sicker than he started.”

She would have put that conversation out of her mind forever. She should have.

The Anne of the past could never have foreseen what would happen next. Gilbert, against all odds, against Anne’s expectations, became her friend. And, more than that, her family. As the years unfurled like crisp parchment, she found herself coming to rely on the boy she’d attacked with a slate. When Mary died, and she’d pulled him close without hesitation, and she’d felt his heart beating against her skin as he held her desperately, Anne had no doubt in her mind that she wanted to know Gilbert Blythe forever.

She wanted to take care of Gilbert Blythe, as Ruby had so often dreamed of doing when they were younger. Maybe not cook for him; he was a much better cook than Anne could ever hope to be. But she promised herself she’d always be there. If Gilbert fell, she’d pick him up. If the world came after him, she’d keep him safe and damn them all. If someone broke his heart, she’d pick up the pieces and stitch him whole.

She would do all that, because she knew, as they stood there crying in the snow, that Gilbert would do the same for her.

She didn’t realize then why that was, why she wanted so much to shelter him and keep him close. It wasn’t until Diana asked her the question that she realized what it was.

“Do you have a crush on Gilbert?”

Did she? Was it a crush? Was that why her heart ached every time she thought of him? Was that why she found herself looking for him in every room she entered? Was that why she feared, just a bit, that fate would cleave their paths in two?

A crush. It seemed too small a word.

Because what did you call the friend that made you light up every time he smiled at you? What did you call the friend that sent goosebumps across your skin when you danced with him? What did you call the friend that made the rest of the world fall away into nothingness? What did you call the friend that you would trust with your life, and would trust you with his?

She needn’t have bothered.

Because that very same day, that _friend_ with the nice smile and nice hair and nice eyes brought a girl to the fair. Not a girl, actually. A _woman_ , with gorgeous honey hair, a mature air of regality and pretty, manicured hands.

And Anne’s heart cracked and burned in her chest, and what did it matter what Gilbert was to her anymore? He certainly wasn’t _hers_. He was Ruby’s, once, as he was everyone’s, and now he was Winifred’s.

And who cared if they were a great T-E-A-M?

And who cared if he still smiled at her the same heartsick way he did when they were children?

And who cared if she might look at him the same way?

And who cared if she thought, once, even briefly, that she would finally belong with someone?

And who cared if he stumbled though some vague confession when she was drunk and confused of what was coming out of her mouth and his mouth and he was _proposing,_ damn it all, but not to her? Who cared? Who _cared_?

Not fate. Not Cupid or Aphrodite or God or whoever was in charge of such things.

And certainly not Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. The years unfurled, and the princess in her tower climbed down by herself.

* * *

“So. Scotland.”

They stood by the sea, Anne with ribbons in her hair and Gilbert with his heart on his sleeve. Outside looking in, one might see a girl with suitcases by her feet and a boy wringing his hands behind his back, and conclude that they might be lovers saying goodbye. The truth was much more practical than that; Matthew and Marilla had unfortunately fallen too sick (a cold that had swept through Avonlea) to see Anne off, and though Anne expressed her wishes to stay until they got well, they insisted on her going anyway.

“I shan’t be the reason you miss your first day at that fancy boarding school in Scotland,” Marilla had sniffed. “Your mother’s sister was lucky to have married into some money, and you’re luckier still to be at the receiving end of her generosity. Now, off with you, Anne.”

Anne might have been a bit stung that it seemed Marilla was shooing her away, if not for the fact that Marilla had pulled her close before she left and cried so profusely and reminded Anne no less than fifty times to write as often as she could (as if Anne needed reminding to write). Matthew was no less inconsolable, though he tried to hide it. Despite his fever, he stumbled to the porch and gave Anne a look of utter bittersweet pride, before hugging her and kissing her red hair.

“Won’t be so shy about your hair at Scotland,” Matthew murmured. “I hear there’s a great deal many redheads there.”

But Anne had not felt shy about her hair in a long time.

Nonetheless, she hugged the Cuthberts with the intensity of all their previous hugs combined, her heart overflowing with love and grief.

“It’ll only be for two years,” she sobbed into Matthew’s shirt. “Then I’ll be back, and I’ll have much to teach the kids of Avonlea, and I’ll bring gifts from Scotland, and I’ll write every day and I won’t ever, ever forget about you, not for one second—”

This went on until the boy taking her to the port cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Anne, if we don’t hurry, we’ll miss your boat,” said Gilbert Blythe – twenty-years-old but with the same brilliant spark in his eyes from their youth – who stood by the buggy that had taken Anne into Green Gables and would now take her out of it.

A problem that arose from Marilla and Matthew taking sick was that there was no one to drive Anne to the port. Jerry Baynard, their dutiful helper, had gone off to elope with Diana Barry (with Anne’s blessing and Aunt Jo’s financial support, of course, never mind Diana’s exasperated parents) and would not be back for another month. The last letter Diana had penned Anne put her and Jerry somewhere around Paris, enjoying French toast and baguettes and each other’s company. She would have asked Bash, but he was far too busy taking care of Delphine. And so left Gilbert.

If there had be any other choice, she never would have considered asking him. It had been a year and a half since Gilbert, with the help of Winifred Rose’s parents, got into the Sorbonne – a topnotch medical school in Europe that Anne definitely did _not_ intensively research, since it was none of her business. He came back every summer in between his classes to help Bash with the farm and visit old friends. When Anne first received word that her aunt would finance her trip to Scotland for college, it was simply happy coincidence that Gilbert would be around until the end of the summer and he’d be traveling down to the port around the same time as Anne would be due to go. And when Marilla and Matthew fell too ill to send her off, well, it was simply lucky that Gilbert was to make the same trip, so can’t he and Anne go together?

 _Oh, it’s luck alright,_ Anne had thought as she and Gilbert loaded her things next to his behind the buggy (the buggy would stay at port until Jerry came around from wherever he and Diana were, at which point the buggy would make its trip back home with another couple – not that Anne and Gilbert were a couple themselves, mind you, the use of the word here simply meant _two people_ , nothing more). _I just don’t know which kind._

In Gilbert’s absence, Anne had heard snippets of his life like music playing in another room, only to be heard if Anne put her ear against the wall.

A month after he left, she heard, _“Gilbert’s engaged to that Rose woman from Charlottetown.”_

Another month after, _“I hear the wedding date’s been set. They’ll be married in the summer, when Gilbert comes home.”_

That piece of news had been more awful to Anne than she’d expected it would be. So awful, in fact, that she rushed to Bash to confirm it, stumbling through streams and weeds and rocks in her hurry.

“He’s getting married?” she’d gasped, breathless on the Blythe-Lacroix’s house porch. “Sebastian, I need to hear it from you. Is Gil – Is he set to be married this summer?”

Bash’s look of pity had been confirmation enough. She’d straightened, smoothed down her skirt, and stiffly excused herself. Bash had called after her, wishing to talk, but she’d marched off before Bash could see the first of the tears fall. She’d been angry with herself then.

 _Why are you crying?_ she’d demanded of herself, brushing the tears angrily away as she crossed the bridge overlooking the Lake of Shining Waters. _You always knew he was never yours to keep. He is the sun. He blazes out of your reach._

And in her frustration, she’d screamed herself hoarse, startling away the swans from the lake’s mirror-blue surface.

But then summer had come and gone, and no invitation was sent to Green Gables for Gilbert’s wedding. Anne had been disappointed. In her head, she’d made up a glorious spectacle wherein she’d dash into the chapel at the last possible moment, before Gilbert could say ‘I do,’ and in her head, she’d tell him that she might be in love with him, and maybe they should be together, if he wanted, and in her head, he’d smile and run away with her, still in his wedding suit. She would never truly do it, of course, but it was tragical and romantical to dream. And he’d robbed her of that dream when he’d decided to just elope with Miss Rose.

At least, that was what she heard: _“They decided to have a discreet wedding in Charlottetown, the moment Gilbert arrived back.”_

Anne didn’t know which was worse: if that was true and they had married secretly, or if it wasn’t and Gilbert just did not bother inviting Anne to his wedding.

When she was sure Gilbert was safely back across the ocean, she made her way to his farm once more, swallowing the dregs of her dignity. She knocked, and Bash opened the door, and he’d smiled.

Before she could even ask, Bash said, “He didn’t go through with it. Lost his nerve at the last moment and called it off.”

“He… He did?” Anne straightened, composing herself. “Well… I just came by to ask for some sugar. And to see little Delphine. Thank you, for telling me about Gilbert’s… unfortunate… dilemma, but that was not why I came here. At all. _Not at all_ , Bash.”

She must have looked so silly, or so pitiful, because Bash had to fight down his laughter as he welcomed Anne into the kitchen. “I must say, Anne, I’ve never seen such a look of relief over sugar. Is Marilla cooking up something really important?”

“Yes,” Anne had sighed. “Carrot cake.”

As Anne sat beside Gilbert on the buggy, Anne was suddenly aware of how long she’d gone without seeing him, avoiding him like the plague for fear of seeing a wedding band around his ring finger.

She pointedly avoided looking at Gilbert the whole way out of Avonlea. And when the sun broke through the clouds and painted him gold, and when their hands brushed when they shifted in their seats and it might have sent a shiver down Anne’s spine, and when the buggy hit a small ditch that jolted her against him, and when he laughed – Anne stayed quiet through it all.

It wasn’t until Avonlea was far behind them and Anne’s tears had finally stopped flowing that Gilbert broke the silence.

Gently, he said, “It’ll be rough the first few weeks. You might even cry yourself to sleep every night, out of homesickness, but it gets better. And coming home is always a sweet excitement.”

“Did you?” Anne blurted.

When Gilbert cut her that sideways look of amused confusion that had not changed in the years they’d known each other, Anne blushed and turned away. “Did I what?”

“Did you cry yourself to sleep at night?”

It was Gilbert’s turn to blush, but he laughed lightly and confessed, “I might have let a few tears slip.”

Anne snorted. “I’m sure you weren’t too lonely. Miss Rose was only a letter away, wasn’t she?”

She knew she’d made a mistake when the faint smile on Gilbert’s smile slipped. He turned back to giving his full attention on the road.

“I’m sorry,” Anne said when his silence began weighing uncomfortably on her. She usually liked having the last word with Gilbert Blythe, but this was disconcerting. “I shouldn’t have mentioned your fiancée, after everything—”

“She’s not my fiancée.”

Anne hastily beat down the unexpected rush of relief that went through her at that. “Oh? When I heard the wedding didn’t happen, I assumed you merely put it off until you could graduate.”

“No,” Gilbert said, sighing through his nose. “I broke it off completely. _We_ broke it off, actually. It was a mutual agreement.”

“Why?” Anne asked before she could stop herself.

They passed under an arch of dogwood trees. A strong wind blew down a rainfall of white blossoms. Three of them found their home in Gilbert’s hair, stark against his dark curls. It reminded her of the snowflakes caught in his hair during his father’s funeral, so long ago, when she’d felt helpless as she stood by as he grieved. When Mary got sick and Gilbert grieved once more, Anne had learned by then that she needn’t say anything at all. It was instinct that drove her to wrap her arms around Gilbert Blythe and hold on for dear life, as if he was a porcelain doll close to shattering and she was the only thing keeping him together.

She wanted to reach out to him now, to hold him as she had before, but to her surprise, he didn’t seem anywhere close to breaking. The smile had returned to his face and though he did not turn to look at her, she could feel the intensity of that smile. Gilbert Blythe, it would seem, was as whole and as unbroken as she’d ever seen him.

She couldn’t understand. If it had been her losing a lover, she would have been far more devastated than he was.

“I just realized something,” Gilbert said, tightening his grip on the reins. “Mary told me once to marry for love, and only for love. I adored Winifred, of course, but I realized I was marrying her for the wrong reasons. I didn’t… I simply didn’t _love_ her. She was a lifeline. Her family offered me the best chance of achieving my dream, and I was afraid to lose that, but I was only staying because it felt safe. It felt easy. But a few weeks before we were set to be married, I realized I didn’t want safe. I didn’t want easy. Love isn’t about convenience. Love is hanging on, even when everything else is going wrong. Love doesn’t have to be easy or safe all the time, love is love as long as it’s _right_.”

“And Winifred didn’t feel… right to you?” Anne ventured, daring to hope. Daring to dream.

Gilbert shook his head. And here he turned to her, and smiled, with white flowers in his hair. “No,” he said. “But I feel alright now.”

Anne held his stare. His eyes were the most splendid color. If he wasn’t driving, she might have stared into his eyes forever. If he’d let her.

Gilbert turned back to watch the road. They’d passed the dogwoods, but Anne wasn’t quite done with him yet.

“And Winifred’s family was okay with you leaving their daughter? It didn’t affect your education at the Sorbonne, I assume, since you’re still headed there?”

“Winnie understood me. It was heartbreaking for both us, but it was what it was. She actually made me realize one other thing, too, that might have solidified her own decision about the matter. She explained it all to her family, quite liberally for my sake. Her father proclaimed that while he’d smoothed some things out for me, I got into the university by my own merit and should see it through to the end. He even joked about me better not getting cold feet at my graduation, too.”

“They seem like lovely people.”

She might have asked what the “one other thing” he’d realized was, but decided against it. She would just have to content herself with that look of peace on Gilbert’s face as they drove, and his serenity was enough. She need not ask what caused it, so long as it would be there always. Gilbert’s life had been one string of grief after another. It made her glad that he could carve out his happiness, nonetheless. It gave her hope.

And they’d arrived in the bustling port, earlier than expected. They stood at the empty berth where their ships would dock: one bound for Scotland, the other bound for Paris.

“Give my regards to Diana, if she’s still around when you arrive.” Anne bounced on the balls of her feet, unable to keep still. The sea spread out blue and unending beyond them, but she kept her eyes on Gilbert.

Gilbert nodded. “So,” he said slowly. “Scotland.”

Anne nodded nervously.

“Will you be returning for summer, at least?” he asked, trying – and failing – to seem nonchalant.

“Unfortunately not,” said Anne. “The trip would be too expensive, and too long, but what’s two years for education, right? And I’d get to know my mother’s family more.” At his crestfallen look, she surged to ask the question that had haunted her ever since she got her aunt’s offer: “Do you think I’m making a mistake? Do you think I should stay?”

Gilbert blinked rapidly. She might as well have slapped him suddenly across the face, given his reaction. “Those are two very different questions, Anne.”

She stared back at him, appalled. “What do you mean?”

Gilbert’s eyebrows pulled together in contemplation. “Well…” he began haltingly. “I think it’s all well and good you’re pursuing your education. From what I know, Scotland has phenomenal schools, with a competitive student body, so I’m sure you won’t lack in mental stimulation, but—” He snapped his mouth shut and shook his head, turning hurriedly away from her, towards the horizon.

“What?” Anne demanded, stepping towards him. “But what, Gilbert?”

“It’s nothing,” he murmured. “Let’s just wait for our ships.”

“Gilbert.” Anne stood her ground. She wasn’t known for being a pushover, as anyone in Avonlea could very well attest. Her stubbornness was as much a part of her as her red hair. “ _But what?”_

“But,” began Gilbert, with the tone of someone defeated, but glad for having been defeated, “if it were up to me, I’d prefer you didn’t have to leave at all. Avonlea is your home. You should stay in it.”

“ _You’re_ leaving Avonlea, too!” she said exasperatedly.

“But I’ll be back in a few months,” he shot back, turning back to her again, a feverish look in his eyes. “You’ll be gone for two _years_. The thing is, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, Avonlea is my home only if you’re there with me.”

Anne’s breath left her in a rush. It was like a physical blow, pushing her back away from Gilbert Blythe as she reeled in the aftermath of his proclamation.

But Gilbert wasn’t done yet.

The words poured out of him as if he’d been keeping them for years and years, and was grateful and eager and desperate to get them all out. “The only thing getting me through the first months away was the thought of going back, of telling you all I’d learned and all I’d seen. I imagined it every day. By God, Anne, I could _hear_ you every day – leaning over my shoulder to laugh at something a professor said, or to debate hotly about a document I’m reading, or to comment on the weather and the newest scientific breakthrough in the excitable way of yours. I convinced myself it was because you’d been my rival for so long, in all things, but it wasn’t that. And when I came back for the summer, bursting at the seams with all the things I wanted to tell you, you avoided me like the plague. You didn’t even come by to visit Delphine. I came by Green Gables so many times, only to be informed that you were out, or you were sick, or you were too busy studying.”

At this point, Anne felt like she had to at least defend herself against Gilbert’s tirade. “It was because I thought you were getting married—”

Gilbert gave a firm shake of his head. “It doesn’t matter now. Because you avoiding me made me realize how _stupid_ I was. I wasn’t hearing you and seeing you and dreaming you because you were my rival. Winifred helped open my eyes to it. It should have been obvious. But I was confused and terrified and I didn’t want to ruin what we had so I kept pretending it wasn’t there, that I didn’t—”

He paused again, breathing harshly as if he’d just run for miles and miles.

“That you didn’t what, Gilbert?” Anne prompted. Hope – a foolish, aimless, desperate hope – was blossoming inside her chest.

“She said she’d seen it that day at the fair, when I left her to chase after you when you ruined Mary’s cake. She told me, _‘Gilbert, Mr. Bones could have told you, then, and Mr. Bones doesn’t have eyes.’_ And she never asked, because she said she might have enjoyed the safety of our relationship too much, as I did, and, God, Anne, Winifred and I were just so stupid about the whole thing. I would laugh if it didn’t hurt to think of the years I wasted denying it.” He breathed in, almost trembling. “But now I get to say it. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I think I’m—”

“All aboard the _S.S. Cordelia,_ bound for Scotland!”

Both Gilbert and Anne startled at the announcement, and when they turned, they realized that Anne’s ship had indeed docked right behind her, without them so much as noticing it. People were starting to board, final goodbyes were being said, and the pair of them stood dumbfounded, staring in exasperation at the rude interruption.

“Gilbert.” Anne turned decidedly towards Gilbert Blythe, unwilling to go before hearing him say it. “What were you going to say?”

Gilbert slowly peeled his eyes away from the _S.S. Cordelia_ and pinned his intense gaze on Anne.

“It’s better if I just show you,” he said softly, and took out a small box from his pocket. “I was going to do it the moment I came back this summer, but everything was just too busy with you packing off for Scotland and Diana going off with Jerry Baynard, and I suppose I was scared then, too.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not scared now.”

And he opened the box to show her the ring tucked safely inside. It was a simple gold band, topped with a small, fire-red ruby that glinted under the afternoon sun.

“Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” said Gilbert Blythe. “Will you marry me?”

It was as if someone pulled the earth right from beneath Anne’s feet. The world spun; she had a feeling that she might be falling, even though her feet were planted firmly on the ground.

No. This couldn’t be happening. This was too— She wasn’t used to getting what she— This must be some cruel joke, except… Gilbert Blythe was never intentionally cruel. That wasn’t his nature, at all.

“Gilbert…” Her voice sounded strange, even to her.

He was looking expectantly at her.

_No. This is all wrong. This isn’t what I—_

“Gilbert,” said Anne again, squaring her shoulders. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Gilbert blinked in surprise. “I’m… proposing. Do you want me to get on my knee, as well? I thought I’d rather be discreet about it, so as to not pressure you—”

“How can you expect me to say yes?” She was breathing too fast; her heart had crawled up into her throat. “Gilbert, a few minutes ago, I thought you were engaged to another woman and wanted nothing to do with me. And you’re leaving for Paris, and I’m leaving for _Scotland_. This is moving too fast. This is all too much. I cannot—”

“I misinterpreted,” he said, dismayed. He shut the ring box hurriedly and pocketed it, his face flushing. “I’m sorry, I should not have assumed you felt the same way after all these years—”

“You’re putting words in my mouth, Gilbert,” she said furiously. “I never said I didn’t feel anything for you.”

Gilbert’s eyes widened. “So, you _do_ …?”

“I…” Anne was not usually one to be at a loss for words, but here she was. She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes and suppressed the urge to scream. “I don’t know!” she said finally, exasperated and confused and angry at fate for not understanding the concept of _good timing._ “I don’t know what I feel Gilbert, but I _do_ know that you completely blindsided me!”

Gilbert at least looked sorry. “I… I should’ve thought this through.”

Anne let her hands fall from her face and stared at Gilbert Blythe. She had the same thought as she’d had when she broke that slate against his head. _How could he still look so beatific when he teased her?_

“Gilbert,” she said softly.

“Anne,” he replied, voice equally soft.

“I’m saying no,” she said quickly, before she lost her nerve.

His face fell. He swallowed thickly. “I – I understand.”

If someone told thirteen-year-old Anne that she would end up being the one breaking Gilbert’s heart, she would have laughed at the impossibility of it.

“But,” Anne added, before Gilbert could turn away, “it’s not because there’s… there’s nothing in my heart for you.” Because that heartsickness had not gone away, even when he was with someone else. She had become a master at hiding it, though. Maybe too much of a master. “I’m just not ready.”

“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Anne, you don’t have to explain.”

“But I do,” she said. “My life is changing, Gilbert. I’m moving away from the only home I’ve ever had. Too much is happening, too fast, and I don’t want to ask this of you, but…”

“You know you can ask of me anything, Anne.”

Oh, she knew. She knew it, as she knew he could ask of her anything, too.

“I want us – you and me, I mean – to stay the same.” She could see the hope flicker in his eyes. “To be friends, as best as we can be, while we figure our relationship out. Give ourselves time to breathe and adjust, and then make the decision somewhere down the line. I’m asking you to wait for me, Gilbert Blythe.” She sighed, her chest feeling lighter, as if getting the words out removed a heavy burden she’d been carrying for years. “Can you do that?”

Gilbert stepped towards her, close enough that she could smell the farm on him, and the intoxicating smell of just _Gilbert_. For a moment, she thought he might kiss her – and didn’t really find herself against the idea – but he only pulled her close to him in a hug. Her arms went instinctively around his waist, holding him against her.

“Goodbye, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,” he said against her hair. “I’ll wait for you.”

Unexpected tears pricked at Anne’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “We’ll write.”

“Of course,” he said. “Every week.”

“What’s two years?” She tried to laugh, but it just sounded pathetic.

“Of course,” he repeated, and Anne didn’t think she imagined the pain in his voice. “What’s two years?”

“Last call for the _S.S. Cordelia,_ bound for Scotland!”

Anne pulled away from Gilbert, her hands trembling as she picked up her suitcases. They stood there on the dock, the sea stretching out beside them. A seagull cawed overhead.

“I’ll write,” she said again.

“And I’ll wait.” Gilbert smiled.

When the _S. S. Cordelia_ pulled away from the docks, Anne leaned past the railings as far as she could without falling into the water and watched Gilbert Blythe wave to her until the horizon swallowed him whole.

* * *

_~~Dear Gilbert~~ _

_~~Dearest Gilbert~~ _

_~~Mr. Blythe~~ _

_Gilbert—_

_It’s only been a month since I left Prince Edward Island but it feels like I’ve been gone for years. I miss so much of it, Gilbert. Green Gables, Matthew and Marilla, our friends, the smell of blooming flowers in the spring. I even miss the smell of manure, Gilbert! I find myself sneaking out to the greenhouse at the university just to remind myself of what’s waiting for me back home._

_The last letter I received for you, I told you about my roommates, Susannah and Grace. As I told you with such passion, they’re both Scottish. Grace only half, but still. Thank you for pointing out in your last letter that I, too, am technically Scottish as well._

_My heart, however, understands what my head cannot logically accept. Scottish blood runs in my veins, but I will always belong to Canada and ~~to you~~_ _to everyone in Avonlea._

_School has been doing greatly. I am learning so, so much and I expressed my deepest gratitude to my aunt for allowing me the chance to learn all this. The library, as I said, is full of more books than I could possibly read in a lifetime (though I will try) and here, nobody makes a fuss about my freckles and my red hair since it’s quite the norm! You were also right that there are very competitive students. Though, I am obligated to mention, I do miss the ~~heated~~ intellectual banter only you seem to bring out in me._

_When you return to Avonlea this summer, please send me a jar of honey from your farm. I would ask Bash, but he has his hands tied already with how rambunctious Delphine has gotten (and, regarding your theory in your last letter that she somehow got that from me, I duly object! That scoundrel act is all Blythe, I tell you)._

_~~I miss you~~_

_I also thank you for your reassurance that the topic of marriage will not cross your lips again, until we’re both ready. I’ve barely just begun to see the world, after all. I want to know who Anne Shirley-Cuthbert can be first, before she can be Anne Shirley-Cuthbert-Blythe. ~~That has a nice ring to it, I’ll admit.~~ I reiterate, though: I may not be ready for marriage – and, in truth, I don’t think you are quite there, either – but I think of you fondly._

_I should have told you before I left. You say you hear my voice in your every waking hour. Gilbert, you are the dream I never allowed myself to have. I think I knew it since we were young, but I didn’t truly understand it until we danced at school and I felt as if my lungs had forgotten how to work. When you were engaged to Miss Rose, I have to admit that I buried those feelings with such passionate desperation, because, you have to understand, you were the first and only boy I ever felt that way about and it terrified me that I have given you such power over my heart. I can admit this freely now because, at least with a letter, I don’t have to see your amused little smile that makes me want to hit you with a slate again. Though, as you know, I have my imagination to think of you with._

_But now when I was so close to the real deal, I feel that my imagination – for the first time – might be lacking._

_I can hear you laughing already._

_~~Yours truly,~~_

_~~Ever yours,~~_

_~~Respectfully yours,~~_

_Your friend,_

_Anne Shirley-Cuthbert of Scotland_

* * *

When the bell rang for the final time that day, Anne rushed to her feet along with the other girls and made a beeline for the door, laughing and screaming and throwing her papers into the air with the rest of the rowdy crowd. She found Susannah and Grace, her roommates, waiting for her out in the hallway and linked arms with them, twittering about all they had planned for the summer.

It was the last day of classes, and though Anne adored her lessons more than anything, she was excited about exploring everything else Scotland had to offer. The three of them rushed down the grand staircase of the university, and Susannah shrieked with delight the moment their feet hit the grass of the lawn spreading out as far as the eye could see, a deep emerald-green sea. Anne spread her arms wide, inhaling the sweet summer air and spinning in the daylight, heady with exhilaration and pure, unadulterated joy.

“Oh, Anne,” Grace sighed, “I’m going to take you all over Scotland and show you everything. Do you hear me? I’ll show your little Canadian eyes _everything_.”

Anne laughed. “You can have me for yourself all summer, Grace, but only after I’ve visited my aunt. I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for her. And I’m excited to know more about my mother and father.”

“Of course, of course,” Susannah said, “and you’ll be too busy reading and writing all those letters to spare us a glance all week, but after? You’ve still yet to try haggis. And whatever you used to drink in your little Canadian island, I assure you you’ve never been properly drunk until you’ve tried what Scotland pubs have to offer.”

Anne tugged at a loose strand of her hair; she’d taken to pinning her hair up and today was no different. She thought about the last time she was truly drunk, all those years ago after the Queens exams, and smiled quietly to herself. “I think I’ve had my fill of pirates and alcohol.”

“What’s this about pirates?” Grace asked.

“Nothing,” Anne replied sweetly, but her mind was already elsewhere.

Susannah didn’t seem to mind talking to someone so obviously distracted. “We’ll take you hiking, and maybe we can stop by a castle or two? You told us about your Lake of Shining Waters but wait until you see _our_ lakes…”

Susannah’s voice suddenly petered off into silence, as they realized the girls around them were all whispering, hiding their giggles behind their palms as they spilled into the grounds. Only a few things could elicit such a widespread response at an all-girls university, and one of them was a cute boy.

Susannah and Grace spotted him before Anne did. Susannah grabbed Anne’s arm, halting her, and breathed, “Gods above, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert, I have seen Adonis in all his glory.”

Anne was more than a little amused by Susannah’s reaction. “It’s because we’ve seen so little of the opposite sex in our six months that even the blandest of them might catch your eye now. I assure you, Susannah, whoever that boy is isn’t worth so much dramatic flair—”

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” said Grace, pointing across the way. “I mean, just _look_ at him, Anne.”

Anne rolled her eyes. And Anne looked. And Anne stared.

All complaints she might have had died on her lips. He was leaning against one of the trees dotting the grounds, reading a book in the shade. His tussled black hair was hidden snugly by his favorite messenger hat, and he was wearing a pressed white shirt and suspenders. His shoes looked newly polished. Anne allowed herself some hope that perhaps it was all for her – then quickly perished the thought.

Her heart hammered in her chest. _What is he doing here?_

The boy looked up, as if sensing her attention. He caught her eyes, and smiled.

“Oh, sweet Lord above,” Grace gasped. “Is he headed this way? Is he coming towards us? Is my hair wonderfully tussled, like the playful wind has made it so and not my rolling off of bed this morning?”

He shut the book he’d been reading and placed it inside the book bag hanging from his shoulder. He strode towards them with purpose, oblivious to the stares he was attracting. When he stopped in front of Anne, she could almost hear the entire world sighing.

“Hello,” he said, sounding unsure and shy and hesitant.

“Gilbert,” Anne breathed.

“You know him, Anne?” Susannah sounded offended that she had never mentioned such a dashing figure to them before. Susannah must suspect Anne never told them about Gilbert Blythe because she wanted to keep him a secret, neatly tucked into the corner of her heart, like a flower stuck between the pages of her favorite novel. But the truth was Anne couldn’t describe Gilbert Blythe to them no matter how many words she learned.

“I suppose you can say I’m an old friend,” Gilbert said smoothly, turning to Susannah and offering her his hand. “Gilbert Blythe. I’m from Avonlea, same as Anne.”

“Pleasure,” said Susannah, grasping his hand firmly. “I’m Susannah, and this is Grace. We’re Anne’s roommates.”

Gilbert nodded. “Thank you for taking care of my Anne all this time.”

 _My Anne._ He had called her _his_ Anne. Had Anne misheard? Was this all some fever dream?

“What are you doing here, Gilbert?” Anne asked.

When Gilbert turned back to her, his eyes softened. As they always did. How did it take her so long to notice it? “School let out early this summer. I’m taking a little detour before I head back for Avonlea.”

“How long will you be staying?” It was the only question that mattered. _How long will I get to keep you for? How long will you be mine, and how long will I be yours?_

“Just for today.” Anne couldn’t keep the disappointment from her face; neither could he. “I was planning on staying for a week, but someone made a mistake with my ticket. I’m to set out tomorrow.”

 _Tomorrow._ Was there ever such a sad way to say the word?

Anne swallowed thickly. “Tomorrow,” she repeated. She glanced at Susannah and Grace, who were looking at her expectantly. She blinked rapidly, hoping for at least one of them to understand. Grace, bless her heart, took the hint at once and grabbed Susannah’s wrist.

“Well!” Grace proclaimed. “This was all good, but Susannah and I have to head out to town to start the summer off with a bang!” She peered mischievously at Gilbert and Anne. “We won’t be back until the morning.”

Gilbert’s brows furrowed. “Should you really be out so long?” Chivalrous concern, as always.

“We’ll find somewhere else to sleep,” Susannah said hurriedly, catching on. “You and Anne can have the room all to yourselves.”

Anne flushed furiously, and she batted at grinning Susannah. Even after all these months, she still wasn’t quite used to the flippant suggestiveness of this region. People in Avonlea would balk at even the slightest mention of anything… of _that_ nature. Susannah and Grace had no such reservations.

“Why would we need the room to…” Gilbert’s cheeks flamed as he, too, understood the implication. “Oh. _Oh._ No, you need not worry, I’ll see myself out before nightfall—”

“Nonsense!” said Grace. “You’ll be leaving so soon, and I’m sure you and Anne have many things to talk about. A few hours simply will not do.” Grace’s freckled cheeks stretched as her grin widened. “Rule one of college, Mister Blythe: _always_ take advantage of an empty room.”

The way Gilbert’s ears pinked would have made Anne laugh, if she wasn’t so sure she was in the state flustered state.

“I’m not planning anything untoward,” he hurried to say, but Susannah and Grace were already waving goodbye, disappearing down the grounds, arm-in-arm and whispering eagerly to themselves. Anne thought she might have heard Susannah say, “Forget Adonis, where can I get myself a Gilbert?”

If Anne had been listening more carefully, she might have also heard Grace answer, “Unfortunately for the rest of us, Anne has that one locked down. Did you see the way he looked at her? The whole world could be burning outside and he would only remark that the firelight does wonders for her complexion.”

But Anne wasn’t listening to them anymore. Her attention was undivided. Looking back on them, Grace would have to admit to herself that if the whole world was burning, Anne would only comment idly on the heat and ask Gilbert if he wanted to take his coat off.

“Your roommates are… refreshingly peculiar,” Gilbert said, after many attempts to clear his throat. “Although not my particular brand, mind you.” This was said with a slight smile at Anne that sent goosebumps over her skin.

“We don’t have to go back to the room,” Anne said hastily. “We can just… walk. Walk and talk.” Oh, God, she was _rhyming._ “The grounds are lovely this time of year.”

Gilbert seemed to shake off the last of his embarrassment. He offered her his arm. She slipped hers through his, and they began walking the perimeter of the college. _This,_ at least, was familiar. They’d walked before. Never quite so close, and never with so many people watching on, curious about that strange Canadian girl and the mysterious figure at her side.

But Anne barely noticed them.

“I can’t believe you’re here.”

Anne couldn’t help the tremble in her words. It was excitement, and maybe a bit of fear, and all to do with Gilbert Blythe. For the past few months, he’d occupied her thoughts at a startling frequency. They’d written, of course, as they’d promised – and no mention of the proposal at the dock, as _he_ promised – and Anne kept his letters in a blue hatbox she’d taken from Green Gables, along with letters from Diana and Jerry, and Marilla and Matthew, and Ka’Kwet and the other girls from school and Miss Stacy and Cole and Aunt Jo and Bash and even, on occasion, Rachel Lynde. Whenever she felt that tug in her heart, calling her home, she would open the hatbox and read their letters by the lamplight.

It was Gilbert’s letters she read last, to keep his words closest to her as she goes to sleep, hoping he might show up in her dreams. A silly thing, she knew, but now that he was here, in the flesh, the longing that drove her to such a tradition came back full force and it suddenly didn’t seem so silly anymore.

Gilbert, here, in Scotland, _with her_.

It was better than all of his letters combined.

His laugh sent a jolt through her heart. No letter, no matter how wordy, could ever encompass the lovely sound of Gilbert Blythe’s laughter. “I can hardly believe it myself. I was pinching my arm throughout the whole ride over, just to make sure I was really headed here, to be with you.”

They passed under an arch of climbing ivy, painting everything in hues of green.

“I brought you something,” he said sheepishly, stopping them in the middle of the arch. Here, they were hidden from the eyes that had been following them since Gilbert had arrived, and Anne felt she could finally breathe easy (not that breathing around Gilbert Blythe was always easy; she had to work to remember to exhale whenever he said or did something spectacularly smart – or spectacularly dumb because of his big, dumb, chivalrous goodness). He let go of Anne’s arm – the loss of contact made her momentarily dizzy – and dug through his book bag until he found what he was looking for.

He presented it to her: a leather-bound journal with the words _For Anne,_ written in Gilbert’s immaculate script on the cover. She took it with shaking hands and flipped through. Inside, there was more of Gilbert’s handwriting, crammed into the pages, and some simple sketches here and there. When she looked back up at him, he was smiling timidly, a young boy’s smile.

“I missed you,” he explained slowly. “And every time I missed you, I wrote down what I was feeling and what I was thinking, so you might actually comment on them instead of me just making up your part of the conversation.”

That’s what he’d said, before she left. _By God, Anne, I could hear you every day – leaning over my shoulder to laugh at something a professor said, or to debate hotly about a document I’m reading, or to comment on the weather and the newest scientific breakthrough in the excitable way of yours._ She’d committed those words to memory.

She flipped through the pages once more and found a page with cramped handwriting, as if Gilbert couldn’t write fast enough.

That particular page caught her attention, and she stopped to read it with a thundering heart. It was just three words, written over and over until they seemed to spill out of the page. _I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you—_

When she looked up at Gilbert, he was having a hard time meeting her eyes.

“Ah,” he said awkwardly, “I didn’t expect you to find that page first. I had been having a particularly rough day, and I thought it would have been much improved with you there and the words just… came to me. I’m sorry, I know you’d rather not speak of—”

“Gilbert.” A soft interruption.

“Anne?”

Anne stepped towards him, closing the journal gingerly and holding it between them. Then, feeling brave, feeling foolish, seeing only that page professing his heart’s contents, Anne reached to cup Gilbert’s cheek. His eyes widened in surprise, and expectation hung in the air between them, unsaid.

“I have letters, for Avonlea,” she said softly, running her knuckles across his cheekbone. He shivered under her touch, but leaned towards her hand to chase the contact. “Maybe you could take them with you?”

“Of course,” he said, equally breathless. She never, in her wildest dreams, would have imagined Gilbert Blythe, breathless, _for her_. “Where…”

“They’re in my room,” she said, watching his emotions skitter over his face.

His eyes widened, his mouth parting open as he exhaled, very softly – something that sounded like her name. When he pulled away, she was sure she’d offended him, put her foot in her mouth as she often did around him, and she thought, _Why must you always ruin everything good in your life, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?_

But then he was smiling, holding her in the circle of his arms, his eyebrow raised. “Lead the way,” he said.

* * *

Anne had to sneak him past the dorm matron, but they made it to room 4J without much trouble; everyone was off enjoying the first day of summer in town, as Susannah and Grace were. Most of the girls had gone home. But everyone else could have their summer day, because the sun was Anne’s. At least for today.

Anne’s hand was trembling so hard it took her a few tries to drive to the key home. And when she stepped shyly into the room beyond, Gilbert stood at the threshold, hesitant.

“You’re welcome to come in, you know,” she said, sounding uncertain herself, standing in the middle of her room and wiping her sweaty palms on her tartan-patterned skirt.

For all her boldness in suggesting he return to her room to be alone with her – without a chaperone! Rachel Lynde would have a field day if word got back to Avonlea – it seemed all sense and certainty had fled Anne’s head the moment Gilbert Blythe stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind him.

It was two worlds colliding; her old life, Gilbert, in her Scotland dorm room. She could feel his eyes touching on everything, finally landing on one of the three beds set against the west wall. His smile was so sweet, and so fond, that Anne felt her heart kick against her ribcage, wanting to escape like a moth set aflame.

“I assume that’s your bed?” he said, eyeing the stacks of books set at the foot of the bed.

Gilbert. Eyeing _her_ bed.

“I should have cleaned up,” she muttered.

Gilbert shook his head. “No, it’s charming. It’s you.”

(Did he call her charming? Did he?)

Anne cleared her throat. The silence was suffocating; everything felt so heavy. The air itself was a physical weight over her.

She hovered over her desk, similarly scattered with books and writing paraphernalia. Two letters sat on the tabletop. One for Diana, listing Anne’s suggestions for baby names – Cordelia was at the top of the list – as well as recommendations on where Diana could further her education, and one for Matthew. She’d meant to send them out later. Now she was thankful he’d arrived before she could.

She placed Gilbert’s journal in the middle of her desk, determined to read it as soon as she her heart stopped running a mile a minute. Then, she took the letters and crossed the room to where Gilbert was.

“Here they are,” she said, handing them to him. Their hands brushed briefly when Gilbert took the letters from her, and Anne begun to pull away, heart hammering, but Gilbert held her hands between his, the letters folded between them.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” he said quickly, desperately. “I should not have written in the journal that I—well, you read it. I didn’t do it to somehow pressure you into rethinking—oh, but I promised not to speak of it until we were both ready—I don’t know what I’m saying. I’m sorry, I suppose?”

Anne stared at him. And then burst out laughing.

“I never would have thought I’d see the day when _Gilbert Blythe_ could stumble so over his own words!” she said cheerfully, not minding at all the warmth that was spreading over her chest as his words. “Gilbert, slow down, you don’t have to apologize. I didn’t mind at all that the first time you admitted you loved me was in writing—”

A hush fell suddenly over them as Anne stopped mid-sentence, realizing what she’d said. It was the first time they’d said the word _love_ in this context; both of them knew full well the power of words, and it had felt they’d been dancing around that particular word for years. Anne had to admire their stubbornness, if nothing else.

But now the word hung between them, finally not unsaid, finally there, _finally_.

It was Gilbert who recovered first.

“It is true, you know.” Gilbert dropped her hands to slip the letters into his book bag. And then he slipped the book bag from his shoulders and dropped it to the floor without taking his eyes off of Anne. There was no humor in his tone now, and his eyes were dark with seriousness. He stepped towards her once more, but didn’t move to touch her. Instead, he said, “I love you.”

Just that.

Just ‘I love you.’

It was not the first time someone had told Anne they loved her. It was also not the first time _Gilbert_ told Anne this, though never in words. Some small, secret part of her had always known – or hoped – that he loved her. She knew it when he chased after her when she messed up Mary’s cake. She knew it when he defended her against the ruthlessness of a small town. She knew it whenever he said her name, and she just felt in her bones that he was adding an _e_ to it. She knew it in every letter she’d gotten from him. And she knew it today, when she saw what he wrote in his journal. This was the first time, however, that Anne heard Gilbert say _I love you_ out loud, with no hint of hesitation, with unwavering eyes set on her and only on her.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he said hastily. “But it was important to me that you knew—”

Anne’s hands were around the lapels of his shirt, pulling him towards her, and the rest of his words were lost against her lips.

Gilbert Blythe tasted like honey and fresh air and spring flowers. Like Avonlea. Like home. Like Gilbert, in his entirety.

When they finally pulled away, Anne found that she was unable to deny herself complete happiness any longer. The time they spent exploring whatever it was between them had solidified what Anne already knew deep inside to be true. She didn’t regret her decision in rebuking his first proposal. She didn’t regret not telling him then. _This_ was the moment she had been waiting for, here when they were alone and the sunlight blazed golden through the windows, casting both of them in warm, buttery light.

There was no rush. There was no hesitation. There was only this.

“I love you, too,” Anne said. There was nothing truer in the whole world.

This time, it was Gilbert who kissed her. He held her close to him, his palm cupping the back of her neck, the other firm against the curve of her waist. And then he was reaching up, undoing the pins from her hair until her hair tumbled over her shoulders like a crimson waterfall. She laughed against his lips, and then sighed softly when he used the opportunity to deepen the kiss.

And then, as abruptly as it began, he stopped, pulling away urgently from her as if she’d burned him.

“Gil?” she asked, not able to keep the fear from her voice. Her imagination ran wild. She could imagine all sorts of things that would have made him break away from her so suddenly, each hypothetical worse than the last: he still loved Winnifred after all, he wasn’t ready, he didn’t love her, he’d made a mistake, she wasn’t right either, nothing was—

But then Gilbert, breathless, said, “You love me?” with such disbelief that Anne’s heart splintered.

“Of course,” she said, stepping towards him. “I was confused before, but I’m not anymore. I know it like I know the color of Avonlea’s grass, like I know the sky is blue and the sun sets in the west. I love you because you make me feel safe. I love you because I trust you, and you’re my family and a kindred spirit. I love your mind, and I love your heart, and I love – I love _you._ ” She couldn’t seem to stop talking – though that was only expected of her. She reached for him, and held his face between her hands, and he was warm like the sun. “I love you, Gilbert Blythe.”

“I – I’ve dreamt of this moment for years and it still feels like I’m dreaming,” he said quietly. “Will you pinch me? Or kick me? Just to make sure I’m wide awake.”

“Or I could smash a slate against your head,” she suggested slyly.

“Only fitting,” he laughed, that Gilbert laugh that made Anne’s spine straighten in attention. “I just can’t believe someone like you could – could love someone like me.”

“I could say the same to you,” Anne said exasperatedly, even as her knees threatened to buckle out from under her.

“Then we are both fools,” he said softly, and then rushed to kiss her once more.

There was a bravery in Anne’s heart that was hard to ignore, a guiding voice telling her to move her hands to Gilbert’s shoulders, to kiss the corner of his mouth, to brush her fingers against the pulse at his neck. Loving Gilbert Blythe was an instinct.

She didn’t know which of them moved first; all she knew was that she was backing Gilbert up against her bed, and when the back of his knees hit the bedframe, he fell with an exclamation, taking her down with him. He laughed as they laid there, Anne splayed across his chest with her hair spread over both of them like a blanket. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and then wrapped his arms around her, holding her close to him.

Anne rested her head against his chest, right over his heart, and heard the evidence of his affection in his thundering heartbeat.

“Will you say it again?” he asked shyly.

She looked up at him. “I love you,” she said.

“And again?” He was smiling. He still looked beatific when he teased her.

She figured she could humor him. After all, she’d made him wait this long. “I love you, Gilbert Blythe.”

He beamed, and it was like he was lit from within. “I love you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

And she moved to kiss him, and he held her close, and outside, summer was just beginning.

* * *

She woke up to birdsong, and the faint smell of the sea.

For a sharp, frightening moment, Anne thought that all of yesterday had been nothing more than a fever dream, born from her longing and a too-vivid imagination.

But then she realized she wasn’t alone in her bed, and reality came crashing back like a tidal wave.

They must’ve fallen asleep while talking; Anne was fit snugly at Gilbert’s side, her head against the curve of his neck, his arms around her. One of his hands rested on her hip, long fingers bunching up the fabric of her skirt like a child hanging on to his favorite blanket. Her heart thundering, Anne gently pulled back from Gilbert’s side and watched the sunlight dance across his features. She’d never realized how long his eyelashes were before. And so curved, like a prince’s. He looked tranquil in his sleep, like he’d left all his worries behind. She was so used to seeing him so animated – eyebrows pulling together, eyes brightening, mouth thinning into a disapproving grimace or stretching into a grin or dropping in surprise – that seeing him so still scared her a bit. But she could spend eons watching him like this, if he’d let her, and if she was sure he’d still allow her to look at him when he was awake.

 _He let his hair grow out,_ she observed. His curls were still the same unruly tangle as it had always been, but it curled more around his ears and over his brow, making him look – older, somehow. More mature. A stray strand had fallen over his left eye. Carefully, so as to not wake him, Anne used her pinky finger to flick the rebel curl back away from his eye.

His skin was soft under her touch. Her fingers lingered on his cheek.

“Enjoying the view, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert?” Gilbert murmured drowsily, shifting closer to her.

Anne dropped her hand hastily. “No, I wasn’t.”

Gilbert cracked one eye open against the sunlight, his face scrunching up with the sudden blaze. “What time is it, Anne?”

“Early morning,” she replied, almost struck speechless by the normalcy of it all. Last night, they’d kissed for the first time (and then the second time, and then the third…) and here she was, being held by Gilbert Blythe, and talking as if everything had not fundamentally shifted between them. And perhaps, Anne thought, nothing did change, and they’d always been like this. The only difference now was that they were finally free to do so. “When’s your ship leaving?”

“After lunch. When are your roommates coming back?”

“With their hangovers? They won’t be awake until sunset.” She felt herself begin to smile, even as she mentally calculated how many hours she would have him by her side. “You can sleep in as long as you like. I’ll wake you before you have to leave.”

His eyes opened fully, the warmest shade of brown. “Anne, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to be with you.”

“I think I have _some_ idea,” she giggled, thinking of her childhood flustering around him.

“Do you think I’d really pass up every minute I can have with you for something as inconsequential as _sleep_?” he continued, rising up on his elbow to look down at her and resting his cheek against the heel of his palm. There was a mischievous gleam in his eyes that sent a shiver down Anne’s spine.

“What do you want to do instead of sleep, then?” Anne asked, gazing up at him.

Gilbert pretended to think. “Perhaps we could debate the recent study they did on farm rats—”

Anne scrunched up her nose in disgust. “Gilbert, as much as I would like to discuss scientific advancements with you, is _rats_ really the direction you want to take this conversation?”

“Where _do_ you want to take this conversation, then?” There went his eyebrows again, suggesting a world of sweet indecency by a mere quirk of them.

Anne knew he was letting her take the lead. Whatever she wanted to do, he would respect and commit to with gusto. It had always been like that with them. A relationship of mutual respect. A relationship between – between kindred spirits.

And because of that, because of what they were to each other, Anne didn’t tell him what she really wanted to do, in her heart of hearts. She didn’t tell him she wanted nothing more than to kiss him again, to draw him down against her and run her fingers through his hair, to know him in the sunlight as she’d known him in the darkness of the previous night.

Instead, she cleared her throat determinedly and smoothed down the lapels of Gilbert’s shirt, curving her hands over his shoulders before forcing herself to let him go.

“Gilbert.”

“Uh-oh,” he said teasingly, though his eyes betrayed a hint of worry. “That didn’t sound like a _‘kiss me, Gilbert’_ Gilbert.”

Anne lay back against the pillows, staring up at him. “What happens now?”

Gilbert blinked. Whatever he had expected Anne to say, that might have been the last thing on his mind. “What do you mean?”

Anne swallowed thickly. “Now that we’ve admitted our romantical feelings for each other, and we’ve consummated those feelings—” She paused as she realized what she just said, her eyes widening, then stammered out, “Not – Not that _kissing_ can be compared to literal consummation, which should be done after marriage, between married people, or maybe if marriage isn’t readily available, I su – suppose it _could_ be done between unmarried people if they love each other as married people do, though Rachel Lynde would protest—”

“Anne, Anne, Anne, slow down.” Gilbert was laughing, his breath ghosting over her skin. When he settled, he gazed down at her with a look so sweet Anne’s resolve to not kiss him almost broke. “Anne Shirley-Cuthbert. Are you asking me to marry you?”

Anne hid her face behind her hands, edging as far away from him as she could on her slim bed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she groaned. “It’s silly. We promised not to talk of marriage until both of us were ready, and it’s certain you’ve reconsidered…”

“Reconsidered what?” His tone had lost all its teasing humor. “Anne, look at me.”

Anne refused to. She didn’t think she could handle the embarrassment.

“Anne.” She heard rustling, and the creaking of the bed as Gilbert shifted. “Anne. Look at me.”

His hands encircled her wrists, pulling them firmly but gently away from her face. She squeezed her eyes shut instead. She heard Gilbert huff out an exasperated laugh. And then his voice was at her ear, soft and cajoling.

“Please, look at me.”

She opened her eyes, one at a time, and found him looking intently down at her, his brows knitted with seriousness. There was no hint of amusement on his face.

“Anne,” he said tenderly, “do you think I would ever reconsider marrying you?”

Hope unfurled in Anne’s chest like a new blossom in the spring. “Then, are you… are you ready?”

His lips twitched in a half-hearted smile. “The more important question is, are _you_?” Gilbert’s eyes were full of an emotion Anne didn’t dare name, for fear of feeding her own hopeful longing. “Anne, I’ve been ready to marry you since you broke a slate against my head.”

Her heart was a balloon, inflating inside her chest until it pressed against her ribcage, the sweetest hurt. “But how would we even work?” she asked, because she _had_ to, because they couldn’t rush into this, because she had to make sure he was sure, because she didn’t think she could survive losing Gilbert Blythe after this. “Gilbert, you’re studying in the Sorbonne, and I’m studying in Scotland!”

“For a year and a half more,” he said soothingly. Oh, why did he have to be so logical and calm? “And then you’ll be finished with your studies. A year after that and I’ll be finished with mine. And then we’ll be back home. Together.”

 _Together_. Was there ever a lovelier word? “And what will we do in the three years between now and then?”

“We’ll write, of course.” He reached down and tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Instead of pulling back, he cupped her cheek and run his thumb over her cheek in a soothing motion. “And I’ll visit as often as I can. I can bear the next three years, if I know you’ll be waiting at the end of it.”

“And we’ll build a home together?” She said the words reverently, quietly, as if saying them louder might break the fantasy. “In Avonlea?”

“And you’ll be a teacher at the school. And I’ll build a clinic. And we’ll paint the walls any color you want. And we’ll have Bash knit us new linen curtains. And we’ll fill the library with all sorts of books, and we’ll read our children a new story each night—”

“Children?” Anne squeaked.

Gilbert looked sheepish, but didn’t take back what he’d said. “In my dreams, we have two. A girl and a boy. They’d have your freckles, and your hair.”

“How unfortunate for them,” Anne said breathlessly.

“No,” he said, picking up a strand of her hair between his fingers and bringing the red streaks to his lips. “They’d be the most beautiful children in all of Canada.”

“What else do you dream of, Gilbert Blythe?”

“I see you,” Gilbert whispered, letting her hair fall between them. His hand settled on her hip. “I just see you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

Anne couldn’t contain her joy any longer. She was Icarus, flying towards the sun, with wings of gold.

She surged forward, capturing Gilbert’s lips with her own. His lips were as warm and as soft and as sweet as she remembered them to be; she didn’t think she could ever get sick of kissing Gilbert Blythe. She was laughing as she melted against him; he was smiling as he pulled her closer to him until they were knee-to-knee, hip-to-hip, chest-to-chest. Anne wondered if he could feel her thundering heartbeat.

When they broke away for breath, tears were shining in Gilbert’s eyes.

“Is that a ‘yes’, Anne?” he asked, heart in his hand.

“ _I_ asked _you_ this time, Gilbert,” she breathed, smiling so wide her cheeks hurt. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, yes, of course, always yes, Anne.”

And he kissed her again, deeper this time, and longer, until Anne couldn’t feel anything beyond where they touched. She sunk her fingers into Gilbert’s hair as she’d often fantasized of doing so many times before, and felt him sigh against her lips. When they pulled away this time, Anne was laughing through a haze of tears. Gilbert’s hands were on her face, wiping her tears away as they came, and he held her between his sun-warmed palms and said, “I love you, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

“I love you, Gilbert Blythe.” She turned her head to kiss his palm. “I always have, and I always will.”

“I love you. I love you. By God, I can’t stop saying it.”

She could still see that page of his journal. _I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you._

“Then don’t,” she whispered, and kissed him as he said it again, and again, and again…

Outside, the sun climbed ever upwards.

* * *

They stood by the sea, Anne with ribbons in her hair and Gilbert with his heart on his sleeve. Outside looking in, one might see a boy with suitcases by his feet and a girl wiping tears from his face, and conclude that they might be lovers saying goodbye. The truth was that they were.

They whispered between themselves, resting their foreheads against one another’s, and Gilbert held Anne’s hands in his and said, “I’ll see you on the other side of the war, Anne Shirley-Cuthbert.”

An old promise. Anne made him a new one. “I’ll wait for you, Gilbert Blythe.”

“We’ve done our fair share of waiting, my love,” he said, and his heart was a burning flame inside his chest. He leaned in, and kissed her, and wanted to stay in that moment until the Earth crumbled around them. “I’ll come running back to you.”

The _S. S. Orpheus_ docked behind them.

“All aboard the _S. S. Orpheus,_ bound for Prince Edward Island!”

Gilbert smirked, brushing Anne’s hair away from her face. “I could just stay here for the rest of the summer, you know.”

And as much as Anne wanted that – more than anything she’d ever wanted in her whole life, more than puffed sleeves – she had to shake her head. “Avonlea needs you, Gilbert Blythe. And Bash will make a big fuss over you not coming home.”

“When I tell him it’s because I’m engaged to you, I think you’ll find no complaint whatsoever from Bash.”

Anne laughed. Gilbert looked at her with such softness that a woman hawking her wares almost fell into the sea as she walked past them, distracted as she was. If Anne had had any attention left for the world beyond Gilbert, she might have noticed the woman shake her head and mutter, _“If someone looked at me like that, I’d have nothing else in life to yearn for.”_

“But remember, you’re not to tell anyone of the engagement until we return home together after my schooling?” Anne reminded him, trying to be stern but failing. She couldn’t keep the smile from her face.

“Of course,” said Gilbert. “It would be an unforgivable crime to rob you of witnessing Rachel Lynde’s reaction.”

“She’d say, ‘I knew it!’ and set out to plan the wedding at once.”

Gilbert reached out and cupped Anne’s cheek gently. She melted against his palm, looking up at him with bright eyes. Gilbert forgot to breathe for a moment. Being with Anne, to him, was like being with the sun. Looking at her for too long made everything in him _hurt_. He wanted, more than anything, to hold her against him as he’d held her the night before and never let go. But, of course, life wasn’t like that. Life was as much full of goodbyes as it was full of hellos. Anne needed to stay, and he needed to go, but the future beyond them was full of reunions. He needed to leave now before he could meet her again. Such was the way of the world. Such was the way of love.

_Journeys end in lovers meeting._

“Anne,” he said, as if her name was the first word he had ever known. “My Anne with an _e_. I’ll see you in my dreams.”

And he kissed her again, and again, and again.

And she kissed him again, and again, and again.

Beyond them, the world burned with sunlight.

**Author's Note:**

> \- thanks for reading!! 
> 
> \- this was written before the last few episodes, so there is some slight divergence from canon. BUT THAT FINALE THOUGH AM I RIGHT???? I rushed to finish this fic the moment I finished 3x10 because I wanted to shape my own take (not that the finale needed fixing it was PERFECT)
> 
> \- also i have no idea how 18th century universities work or how transportation worked in their time so like,,, take all the details of Anne's education and Gilbert's travel with a pound of salt
> 
> \- the title is taken from the song "Light" by Sleeping At Last.


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